Work Text:
- Painfully?
Silently flicking the ashes into the ashtray, Nagato shifted his gaze to the masked man, stubbornly ignoring the tarry and heavy smell in the room.
"It hurts" - sounded already too ordinary word in response.
Either a statement or a question.
Obito was not too happy to play such games. Knew it hurt. Knew it was hard.
And the point was not even that you need to play something there: Nagato, after the capture of the five-tails, voiced one simple thought - he does not need to talk about the rotten world. He and Conan knew enough about such a world order.
It was a different kind of game. It was always difficult for them to start a dialogue, but Obito felt an urgent need for it. Again ask - "Does it hurt?"
Again to receive all the same calmly indifferent answer.
After a short silence, the classic offer of tea.
The Uchiha didn't like tea, but tea drinking was fine.
"Goal setting," Nagato said briefly.
After the first sip, Obito added:
- The process as an end in itself.
The flame of a candle famously licked the bottom of the teapot - tea should not cool down under any conditions.
Obito burned his tongue, but he remained silent. Nagato didn't seem to feel anything. But he looked steadily at the trembling flame. And then, brushing off his thick bangs and raising his head, he smeared his gaze over the visible black eye, in which the dance of fire was reflected.
And Obito looked at the bandaged legs, seeing how Nagato winces as a misguided spark flies in the direction of the bandages under the pressure of the wind.
The Uchiha could only casually straighten the folds of his cloak and exhale quietly. The false light of fire, from which the images of the gloomy cave of Madata themselves flashed in my head. A sharp change in the picture: bloody pools in which the moon is reflected, a dead, cold body.
Nagato's red hair was reminiscent of blood. Nagato's red hair was a reminder of a goal. Nagato reminded him of the goal. He is covered in the same scars as Obito himself.
The Uchiha never talked about it. At first, it seemed reasonable. Now it's redundant.
Nagato did not ask, silently drank tea, and did not dare to break the silence, but in his eyes, in his actions, Obito saw mute gratitude. There was a painful pull in my chest. The conversation started again.
"Some things are impossible to forget, don't you think, Nagato?"
The owner of the Rinnegan took a small sip, spoke in a hoarse voice, calmly and slowly. Suffered notes were read in calmness.
- I think that there is no need to forget them.
- Is there any sense in this pain, if everything can be different?
Nagato lowered his head, peered into the blackness of the cloak. Gradually his eyes widened. Suddenly, as if reacting to a painfully white flash of light, he, looking heavily and sternly, answered:
- Goal setting, Madara, goal setting.
Obito laughed as he sipped from his cup.
“There is no place for your ideology in the Eternal Tsukuyomi.
"You're thinking about too ephemeral things that have no place in our lives or in our dreams," Nagato also looked, readily answering, "happiness is not immanent in nature and does not lead to anything."
Obito knew that Nagato knew he was wrong about that last statement. A deliberate assumption, a deliberate attempt to hide that old desire, quite childish, naive ... pure. Which once was and the boy Uchiha Obito. The boy Obito Uchiha died in a dark cave, and his place was replaced by the same childish and naive dreams - dreams of happiness, but not in this world.
Because in this world, happiness only made it worse.
“And yet you still follow me and my plan.
Obito was embarrassed to talk about being followed and accepted. Nagato was embarrassed to interrupt Madara, to report that they were not following him, but only plans.
Both understood that it was far from the fact that one simple expression, meaning for someone truly samurai devotion, for someone - devotion to the daimyo, was inappropriate in their case. It's about sincerity and trust - not an affordable luxury here.
Obito sipped from the bowl again, studying the deep and wide welts on Nagato's legs. The tea ceremony is a goal setting.
"Following," Nagato said slowly blinking, "and I will follow." I do not think that any other plan can be used to achieve our goals.
The earthenware mug trembled in weak hands. And then Nagato poured tea for them. Obito didn't dare offer to help him.
Uzumaki put a small teapot in a place where a tongue of flame licks its bottom, and melted wax accumulates below.
"I'm sure there are no such plans," Obito said firmly, looking up at the rising clouds of smoke again and wondering what the word "our" Nagato had evoked in him. I looked at the Uzumaki again. He knew, as if he could see right through, that Nagato was thinking the same thing.
Uzumaki peered into the reflections of the fire, feeling someone else's eyes on him, and thinking about the pain that could follow in the wake of affection. In memory, a bright spot flashed bright red hair and his own hands in blood. Alien and at the same time so dear.
But "ours" - did not get out of my head. His own ideology and the power that led him to divinity was fueled. I remembered the price of all such drinks. Was it worth it now?
His own words echoed in his head. Only noticing - the rinnegan allowed - that the interlocutor was no longer considering him, Nagato slightly turned his head himself.
What is the purpose of this? What is the target price?
Fear, carefully concealed fear, pounded both of them, and with it pain. Pain that brought neither enlightenment nor liberation, no matter how hard you try to find them.
The tea is almost over. Obito didn't hide his black eyes, and neither did Nagato.
Having drunk, and smoothing out the folds of his cloak, the Uchiha said in an unusually quiet voice and without pretension to power:
"Will you make me some tea when I come next?"
And again disappeared in the kamui funnel.
Nagato drank from his mug, thinking that in tea drinking, of course, there is both a purpose and a meaning. And the price this time was low.